


Help me, Oliver Wood (you are my only hope)

by Rain_GellerBing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banchory Bangers, M/M, Pining, Quidditch, The rating is for language, Unrequited Crush, an awful lot of drinking, and it shows, but I swear I did a lot of research, i don't know why they spend so much time at the pub, i'm sorry about that, it's not a good sign, mention of many Quidditch teams, more or less, now google automatically suggests me Wiki's Quidditch Team List whenever I use it, some inaccuracies, the author doesn't know how to tag nor how to write titles, the author has a potty mouth and so do all the characters, the author wrote instead of sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 03:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13181688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rain_GellerBing/pseuds/Rain_GellerBing
Summary: Oliver Wood is Puddlemere United's Keeper, but he doesn't know that's about to change.Marcus Flint should have learned that it's not a good idea to drink and bet, but apparently he is as stupid as everyone in school thought he was.





	Help me, Oliver Wood (you are my only hope)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> I have a lot to study these days, but this story was stuck in my head and I couldn't sleep untill I wrote it. I read it this morning and, since I haven't posted in a while, I'll post it here.
> 
> Yes, I know that the Banchory Bangers were canonically disband in 1814, but let's just pretend that didn't happen. I needed a lame Scottish team and I got it.
> 
> Hope you'll like this ;)

Oliver could not believe his eyes. Hell, he had known something was off in the first place, but that was way too much. He could not believe _who_ he was seeing, but somehow a small part of him wasn't all that surprised.

 

When he had received the owl two days before, he had known something wasn't right. He was only twenty-five, and even if the Banchory Bangers weren't a big team it felt suspicious that they wanted him to be their new captain. The money for the position was way too much for such a small team, but the fact that he had been a leading Keeper only for two years was what made him wary. Who would want a captain with such a short experience on the field?

 

How desperate were the Bangers? That was what he had asked himself two days before. But now he knew it had all been a set up.

 

Instead of the Bangers' manager, Marcus Fucking Flint was waiting for him in the office. Apparently, his old Hogwarts rival was still playing their little personal game of getting the other angry. Who succeeded to do it in the shortest time won.

 

Before Oliver could say “What the fuck?”, Flint raised a hand to stop him and talked. “Believe me, it's not what you think it is.”

 

Oliver snorted. “I get a work interview with the bloody Banchory Bangers and you are in the room. I'm sorry but I'm not thinking much other than 'what the fuck is he doing here?'.” he sneered, and Flint smiled a bitter smile.

 

“I wouldn't have asked for you if I hadn't been in a fucking pinch.” Flint sighed, and for a second he hid his face behind his hands. Then he gestured to the chair in front of his desk, eyes still closed. “Do you mind? I want to explain.”

 

Oliver wanted to say something bitter or petty, to rush out of the room, to throw a punch on Flint's stupid nose... he wanted to do something. But it had been eight years. He hadn't seen Marcus Flint in eight years, and a big part of him wanted to know why the other had called for him. Letting his curiosity win against his common sense, Oliver sat down, crossing his arms and legs. Flint opened his eyes and Oliver knew he wanted to comment on Oliver's closed off stance, because he had that glint in his eyes he had had at school whenever he had wanted to make fun of Oliver.

 

But Flint didn't say a thing. He looked tired, Oliver thought. Too tired for snark? What had happened to his old rival in those eight years?

 

“You may ask yourself why I'm here.” Flint started, and Oliver couldn't repress another snort. He felt Flint's eyes like daggers on his skin, so he shut up and moved his head, like he was saying 'please, go on'. Well. Without the 'please'.

 

“I'm here because last week I bought the bloody Banchory Bangers because of a bet.”

 

Oliver's brain froze for a second. “Wait.” he said, gaping. “You _bought_ the Bangers?” apparently, he wasn't able to close his mouth.

 

Flint grinned. “Well, you know, I was loaded before and I made good money playing for the Magpies, before I had that damn Bludger accident, don't know if you heard.”

 

Oliver nodded. Two years before, right after he had become Puddlemore's Keeper, Flint had a terrible fall during a match. The reporters said he was lucky to be alive, but sadly he couldn't play Quidditch ever again. Oliver remembered he had been sad to hear that, because he had wanted to see Flint on a broom again.

 

“I'm sorry 'bout that.” Oliver mumbled, but Flint dismissed it with a glance.

 

“Not a problem, really. Hope you know I've been the Wasps' coach in the mean time.” and Oliver nodded again.

 

“I only have to thank Terence for that. You know, he was a reserve Seeker there and he put a good word for me and that's why I got the job. Anyway, we don't like fucking Higgs now, keep that in mind.” Oliver didn't know if Flint was talking to him or to himself, but he didn't comment. He didn't put too much thought on the 'we' either.

 

“Because fucking Higgs got me drunk last week. He's been cocky ever since he became Seeker last year. Anyway. We were both really drunk, and he was talking shit of the Bangers the whole time. And I have been a Bangers fan when I was a wee little lad.”

 

Flint winked when he said that, and Oliver, against his better judgement, laughed. It was weird to hear something so familiar said with a British accent.

 

“Didn't know you liked Scottish teams.” Oliver grinned, and Flint rolled his eyes.

 

“Anyway. Higgs got me all angry and drunk, and we ended up betting. And that's why you are here, Wood.”

 

Oliver still didn't understand, and his expression must have shown it, because Flint went on with his explanation.

 

“Higgs said that the Bangers couldn't win the championship in a million years, and then I told him that they could, if they had someone like me as a coach. That's when the idea of betting crossed that fucker's mind, and he dared me to win the championship with the Bangers.”

 

Flint sighed, and Oliver couldn't help but notice how hopeless the other guy looked. Not that it mattered.

 

“So the next day I bought the Bangers from their Quidditch uninterested previous owner, had the previous coach retire, along with a couple of players in their fucking forties...” Flint looked at him, desperate.

 

“I _need_ to form a good team. I have two Chasers that are okay, with a little training they can do it, I guess. A Beater is not bad, and I got a Seeker fresh out of Hogwarts who swears she had Hufflepuff win the cup all by herself.” a little smile crossed Flint's face, as if he was remembering something pleasant. But then clouds returned in his grey eyes.

 

“The problem is, we need another Beater, a Chaser and _definitely_ a new Keeper. The previous one was forty-seven and almost blind, I don't know how he managed to still play.”

 

Oliver distantly remembered the Bangers' previous Keeper, a small little man who looked kind of sick. He knew what Flint meant.

 

“And, most of all, I need a good captain. Someone who can motivate the team, and help me with practice and strategy.”

 

Something in the way Flint looked at him directly in the eyes made Oliver shiver. He cursed himself silently for it, but it looked like Flint didn't notice.

 

“You really think I could make a good captain?” Oliver broke the silence they had fallen into, and Flint shook his head.

 

“I would be stupid if I thought otherwise. Well, all our teachers back at Hogwarts thought I was stupid, so maybe I am anyway. It's better to say that I would be crazy if I thought you're not a good player, or a good captain, Oliver.”

 

Oliver shivered again, this time barely concealing it. Shit. Flint had openly complimented him. This was not going to end well.

 

“I only have one question.” he said then, avoiding Flint's eyes. “Can you really pay me that much?” He had really been surprised by the amount of money promised in the letter he had received.

 

“I had to make you an offer you couldn't refuse because I really need you, Wood.” Oliver noticed the change in tone (more pragmatic), and how Flint had used his surname again, instead of his name. “I can pay you, but only if we start winning. I got money, but I'm not willing to spend it all on you. We win, we get sponsors. We get sponsors, I make you rich. Is it okay with you?”

 

The next day Oliver was signing a contract and debating with his new coach about which Beaters and Chasers to call for the selections.

 

*

 

Oliver wasn't downhearted. Well, not completely. The team Flint had made up wasn't as bad as the coach thought, but Oliver wasn't sure if they were going to make it to the top or not.

 

The Beaters weren't like Spencer and McCall back at Puddlemore, but they were fine. Ace Clacher was big and unruly, and he had almost ten years of experience in the league, and even though he was a bit unrefined Oliver was sure he could become a good Beater. On the other hand, Fabia Donne was a small little girl, only twenty. Flint had insisted on having her on the team, and looking at her practice Oliver understood why. She was quick and precise, and though she lacked some strength in her arms, it was an easily solved problem.

 

The Chasers were a little more problematic. Jacinto Irving was not versatile at all. He wasn't bad, because he scored more than enough, but when the game started to get a little bit quicker than he was used to, he became useless. It was like he couldn't think any more, even if Oliver and Flint had explained the strategy to him ten thousand times just minutes before.

 

Jake McAngus was scary. Not that Oliver got scared easily, but he was scary. He remembered playing against the 6'4” man the previous year, and how strong his throws were. The only problem with Jake, apart from the fact that he was in his late thirties, was that he was slow. His stance and his weight slowed him down, and a slow Chaser is a bad player, no matter how scared of him the rival Chasers could be. But Oliver was confident. Flint himself was a big, 6'3” man with more muscles than everything else, and he had always been way too quick for Oliver's sake. He knew that if anyone could speed up Jake, that person was Flint.

 

Parthenia Donne was small, just like her sister. They weren't twins, but when Oliver had seen them at the selections he had thought that one girl was trying for both positions. And he had envied that girl for being so good both as a Beater and as a Chaser. While with Fabia he had had some reserves, once he had seen Parthenia with a Quaffle in her hands he had known he wanted her on the team. Like her sister, she was quick, and she was also quite the strategist. She was smart or, as Fabia had pointed out more than once, a “stupid Ravenclaw smart-ass”. The only problem with Parthenia was her temper. She was only nineteen, and she wanted to show the world what she was capable of. She was confident, and she never listened to Flint's remarks or Oliver's suggestions. She was a hard one to tame, and Oliver understood why she never made it to Ravenclaw's Quidditch team at school.

 

Olena Thorburn wasn't much better. She was a tall an lean girl who reminded Oliver of Angelina, because she was fierce and she always spoke her mind. Oliver, much like Flint, was fairly surprised she had been sorted in Hufflepuff at school. She was stubborn, self-centred and judgemental, but she was a good Seeker, when she wasn't talking about her Hogwarts Quidditch glorious career. Oliver suspected that the rest of the team wanted to strangle her.

 

The first weeks of training went in a blur. Flying, the Quaffle, Fabia's snark and Theni's bad temper, Olena's stories and Jake's grunts, Flint shouting and Bludgers rushing in the wind...

 

Oliver stayed behind one night. He wanted to get some work done, so after a shower he went to his very small office upstairs. To no one's surprise, light came through Flint's glass door. Oliver wondered for a second if the man ever slept, but then he decided it was none of his business and went into his office to focus on some easy gameplay. Something effective, but that even Jacinto could pick up.

 

It was almost midnight when he decided to go home, eat and sleep. Or even better, go home, drink some milk and sleep. Or simply sleep. He was tired as hell, because the combination of his personal training and Flint's was harder on his body than he had expected, and spending four hours on a play-book had given him a headache to top his general bodyache.

 

Oliver noticed that the light in Flint's office was still on. He stared at it in the middle of the corridor, too tired to do something about it but too Gryffindor to refuse to help someone who clearly needed a hand. That was why he had signed the contract with the Bangers in the first place, or at least that was what Oliver told himself when he couldn't sleep. He didn't have any ulterior motives. Not one in hell.

 

He didn't even notice he was in front of Flint's door until his knuckles hit the cold glass. A few moments later, he saw someone moving towards the door, and Flint opened it.

 

“What the fuck are you doing still here?” Flint almost shouted, grumpy.

 

He looked like he had been sleeping on the desk, thanks to the lines on his face and the messed up hair. Not to mention the deep, raspy voice. Oliver had to remind his mouth that he had to answer the question he had been asked, but his mouth was way too dry to speak. He showed Flint the play-book instead, and the guy relaxed a bit.

 

“Wanna come in?”

 

Oliver nodded, and he followed Flint, who slowly went back behind the desk. On the table there was a mess of paper and quills and pencils and sketches and bills... Oliver's headache reminded him that he should have gone home. To sleep. But all it took him to sit down was a look into Flint's stormy grey eyes.

 

“So, I was thinking, and correct me if I'm wrong...” Oliver started to explain, cheerfully. The two old rivals ended up discussing strategy for almost three hours, when Oliver's eyes weren't able to stay open any more.

 

“Are you sure you're awake enough to Apparete at home?” Flint asked, and Oliver almost didn't register that.

 

“Hmm... yeah?” he said, not convinced. Flint gave him his Judging Coach Look, and Oliver felt small under that gaze.

 

“There's a bed in the next room, I use it when it's too late to go home to sleep. You can stay here if you want.” Flint told him with nonchalance.

 

Oliver gaped, surprised by the generosity. “You'd really let me sleep in your bed?” he asked. Flint scoffed and rolled his eyes, before answering.

 

“I have no use of a Splinched Keeper, Oliver, the championship starts next month. Go to sleep. Now.” he barked.

 

And maybe it was the use of his fist name, maybe the command in Flint's voice, or maybe he was simply too tired to argue, but Oliver just nodded, greeted his coach and then went into the next room. Behind him, Flint left to go back to his house.

 

Oliver managed to shed his shirt and shoes before stumbling into the bed, and he couldn't help but smile. He was too tired to force himself not to do it. And if he was smiling because he had a great time with Flint, talking about strategy and the team, and then the man had showed him some unexpected kindness and the bed smelled a bit like him, for once he didn't care.

 

*

 

Oliver knew he was fucked up the morning Flint announced that their first match was against the Cannons. He knew it, because for a split of a second he felt exactly like all those years before, when he was fifteen and young and stupid.

 

So he did what he had done then. He put himself into training. Himself, his team. But it wasn't much of help this time, it wasn't really a distraction. Because the more he trained, the better the team became, the more Flint smiled, and that wasn't good for Oliver's health, both mental and physical.

 

The evening before the match though, everyone was tense. Even Olena was nervous, and she hadn't talked about her marvellous dive against Slytherin in days. That was probably why after practice Oliver said something as stupid as “Why don't we all go to have a drink? Just something to calm us down.”

 

His teammates mumbled, but they all ended up going to Banchory's old wizard pub, the Hard-hearted Hag, along the river Dee. The pub was empty, and the eight of them – Flint had joined – with their anxiousness made the place look grimmer than it already was. Oliver had been there just once before, when he was looking for an apartment in Banchory, and the bartender had been very welcome to help him, but the dude was as scary as Jake, so he never went back. It turned out, Jake was the bartender's cousin. At least they had a family discount on the booze.

 

After a couple of bottles of Firewhisky, Oliver felt that his team was calmer, enough to sleep anyway. The Donne sisters had become quite noisy, in contrast of their usually calm behaviour, and Olena hadn't stopped laughing in at least half an hour. Not that the men looked any less drunk.

 

They all parted then, reminding each other to turn on the alarm clock for the next day. For the fucking match.

 

Flint gave him a last warning look before going his way. “If my team is hangover tomorrow, I'm going to fucking kill you, Wood.”

 

But Oliver knew he didn't mean it. Flint was smiling.

 

*

 

The next day, Oliver put on the black and purple uniform with trembling hands. This was the first match of the season, and he had always been nervous on the fist match of the season. That's when it really hit him. This was his first match as captain. Oh shit. He couldn't stop trembling.

 

No one of his teammates looked hangover, or relaxed. The mood in the changing room was tense, and Oliver felt like throwing up. He new that now it was his moment. Now it was time for his speech. Flint believed in him, in his ability of motivating people. That was why he had chosen him. Flint. Had chosen him.

 

The clock told him he only had ten minutes for the speech, and he had no idea what to say, but he hemmed anyway, startling Ace. Oh lord, this was hard.

 

“Guys, a word please. Before the match.”

 

Everyone was staring at him now. He tried to look at everyone while he spoke. They needed it.

 

“This is our first match. As a team, for me as a captain and for many of us as players in the league too. And I want you guys to know a couple of things.”

 

He sighed, looking for the right words. Fabia gave him an encouraging smile.

 

“What I want you to know is, we can do this. But at the same time, we can lose. We can allow ourselves to lose.”

 

Jake looked like he wanted to argue with that, but Oliver glared at him, daring him to interrupt his captain speech. No one talked. Oliver went on.

 

“We can allow ourselves to lose, because it's fine. We can't think we're going to be the best right on our first try. If we lose, we can better understand what we lack, what are our weak points, and we can improve, becoming stronger, better. If we lose today, we can start over tomorrow, like a phoenix.”

 

Oliver smiled. They all looked annoyed. That was good.

 

“Or. Or we could win today, and show the world that it doesn't matter if we are a bunch of girls straight out of Hogwarts, a couple of brutes in their thirties and a novice captain. We can show the Cannons and all these wizards and witches on the stands that we are a team. That we know how to work together. That we know how to score, how to use bats, how to catch the Snitch. We can show everyone who is not in this room that we deserve a spot on a professional league team, that we trained hard to get this spot. We can show them that we are good, that we are great like I _know_ we are. We can show them that Quidditch is not just our passion, it's our life, it's what we are good at. What we love and what we want in life. We're going to show them that we are, indeed, that we are like the Hebridean Black we have on our chests. We will not bow in front of Cannons, Wasps, Harpies and Falcons. We will roar at them, and then we will eat them for breakfast!”

 

At that, Olena threw an arm in the air and shouted: “Eat Cannons for breakfast!” and all the rest of the team answered repeating the chant. They ended up saying it so many times Oliver lost count, but he was smiling. He had managed to relax a bit, and his team was in the right mood. They were ready to show to all the wizarding world what they were made of, by doing what they were born to do.

 

Eat Cannons for breakfast.

 

*

 

Oliver still couldn't believe it.

 

340 to 40, they had won.

 

They had trashed the Cannons, to be honest. He was shouting from the top of his lungs, hugging his teammates, crying. Yes, maybe he was crying like a baby, but he didn't care, no matter how much Fabia laughed at him.

 

They had been great. He still couldn't believe it.

 

Ace and Fabia had worked together like a well oiled machine, which was crazy since they had known each other for no more than two months, and they had spent a good part of these two months arguing with each other. They had saved the team multiple times, and Fabia had injured more Cannons players that Oliver could count, to the joy of Flint, who was talking about her with such pride it almost felt like he was talking about a daughter.

 

The true surprise had been the Chasers though, especially Jacinto. He had remembered all the formations, all that Flint and Oliver had tried to teach him. And Parthenia had actually stuck to their plans and had followed Flint's lead, or at least what she could make up from his shouts many feet below her.

 

Olena had lived up to her tales, and now that she had actually caught the Snitch she looked like the embarrassed eighteen years old she should have been right from the start. Oliver had noticed her with the corner of his eyes. She had spent the first half of the match studying her opponent, Dorkins, like Oliver had never thought she could. She had been observant, quiet. She had understood who she was against, and then she had gone on the lookout of the Snitch. And she had caught it.

 

They were all hugging and shouting “Eat Cannons for breakfast” again, somehow one of the Donne sisters had managed to make it into a nice tune and they were all half shouting, half singing it, Jake louder than all the others. Oliver had already regretted having said it in the changing room, but now he didn't care any more. They had won, and that was all that mattered. He was also kind of crying, and everyone was joking about it.

 

They decided to go to the Hard-hearted Hag, so they just rushed to the showers to change quickly and go partying. They needed it.

 

Oliver didn't plan on staying in the shower for so long, but the hot water was amazing on his aching muscles, and when his teammates went out of the changing room, the place was so quiet he felt like he could breath again. He couldn't stop smiling.

 

They had won.

 

He had won his first match as a captain.

 

Flint and him had won. Together.

 

The thought of Flint made him go back to reality. Oliver stepped out of the hot shower and went to his locker, picking up what he only hoped was a clean shirt – if his mum had known how he was managing, living all alone, she surely would have forced him to go back home – and a pair of jeans. Once he was dressed, he started to put into the bag his uniform.

 

At some point he stopped, too lost in his thoughts. He stared at the black dragon on purple cloth, the small purple eye of the beast staring at him. He felt proud. Of himself, of his team, of his coach.

 

He never thought that after all those years he could feel something for Flint that wasn't pain and hatred. But now... now he felt grateful, more than anything. More than all those silly feelings he had started to have again, despite everything. Despite trying very hard not to stare too much into Flint's grey eyes, especially when he smiled.

 

“Purple and black look good on you, Wood.” a voice boomed behind him, and Oliver jumped. Flint snickered at his reaction, and Oliver couldn't help but smile at his coach, even though he was sure he was blushing. He knew that Flint hadn't meant it that way, he had to calm down a bit.

 

“Gee, thanks coach.”

 

Flint smirked. “Team's been waiting for you, they were wondering what the hell was their captain still doing in the showers.”

 

Oliver laughed. “Well, we won. What if I get lucky with the ladies tonight at the pub and I stink?” he joked, and Flint laughed. The sound made Oliver's heart do something weird, and he cursed it.

 

“Come on Wood, we both know that you don't want to get lucky with the girls.”

 

Despite himself, Oliver laughed. His sexuality wasn't a mystery to his teammates, it had never been, not even at Hogwarts, but he liked to say stuff like that, just to confuse the straights. Straights like Marcus Flint, he had to remind himself.

 

“Give me a second and I'm coming, but you can tell the guys to go without me. I'll be there in no time.” Oliver winked, and Flint smiled at him. Shit.

 

“Well then, see you at the Hag, I don't think I will be able to keep them here a second longer. And good luck with picking up blokes.” Flint had winked too, and Oliver had to pretend that his heart hadn't sunk painfully in his chest at the other man's words.

 

*

 

Oliver Wood realised he was ultimately fucked up the next morning, when he woke up in a stranger's bed with a hangover and the vivid image of callous hands and grey eyes, an image he had found in his dreams and that apparently had made him hard.

 

He sighed, looking at the man snoring next to him.

 

Oliver Wood didn't have a type. He just had the worst unrequited crush in the history of unrequited crushes, and he happened to pick up guys that reminded him of the only man he had ever fallen for, with the exclusion of Viktor Krum and Barry Ryan.

 

It was not his fault if he tended to pick up guys who were taller than him, and possibly had long dark hair and grey eyes. Or big hands and lousy mouths. Or man who grinned like idiots, or looked like they could break you with just one punch.

 

It was all Marcus Flint's fault, and Oliver had spent the last ten years trying to forget the idiot that now was his coach, his – he dared and dreaded to say – friend.

 

His groan had woken up the sleeping guy next to him. Oliver tried to remember his name, but as usual in this kind of situation he couldn't remember it. He decided he would call the guy Victor, in honour of his other crush.

 

Victor had long, black hair, which was probably why Oliver had decided to go home with him, but his eyes were of a disappointing shade of blue. They were beautiful, sure, but Oliver felt cheated when the guy opened his eyes and it turned out they were of that fake shade of blue.

 

Victor interpreted his hard-on for something it definitely wasn't, and smirked lewdly. Oliver didn't have the time nor the interest in explaining that the reason why he was turned on was a wet dream he hadn't had for four years - if his memory served - so he just went along with Victor and had a little morning fun.

 

*

 

Quidditch season and weird feelings don't go well together, Oliver decided two days before the match with Lancashire. They had beaten the Caerphilly Catapults the previous week, but only by 20 points, and Lancashire was far better than the Catapults, since the previous year it had ended up sixth and the Catapults tenth.

 

It was past midnight, and Oliver was at the Hag with Flint and a little too much Butterbeer empty bottles, comparing notes on the players and trying to come up with a plan to fight against that son of a bitch Hernandez, a Peruvian Beater Lancashire had hired and who turned out to be one hell of a player.

 

But, as said, Oliver had too many Butterbeers in him to be focused on Hernandez. All he could do was stare at Flint's grey eyes, at his plump lips, that the bastard kept biting because he was worried about Quidditch. It was probably the first time in his life Oliver had trouble to focus on the game, and definitely the fist time he didn't even want to _think_ about the game.

 

He sighed, putting his head on his hands, elbow on the table. He felt like he was the embodiment of helplessness. Or maybe he was just drunk.

 

“You should go home, Wood. It's late, and I shouldn't have let you stay here with me for this long.” Flint said, his voice kinder than Oliver had ever heard it.

 

Oliver shook his head and then raised it to look directly into Flint's stupidly grey eyes. “No, I'm fine. I'm just so... pissed. Why can't I come up with a bloody game scheme?”

 

Flint laughed. “That's probably because you're drunk, Wood.”

 

Oliver glared at him, offended, and that made Flint laugh harder. Oh shit, this idiot's laugh. Oliver was sure that if he had known, Flint would have never _ever_ laughed in his presence. Ever.

 

“I am not drunk.” he said, but it sounded like a mixture of a splutter and a whine. Oliver was not amused with himself, but he was kind of proud that he had made Flint chuckle. Oh lord he had it bad.

 

“Go home, Oliver. I promise that tomorrow we will review our notes and come up with something, but we need to rest because now we are too tired to think. And I'm afraid that if we don't go quickly Mace is going to throw us out anyway.” Flint added quickly as a joke.

 

Oliver nodded, glancing at Mace behind the counter. The bartender looked bored and cross, and it wasn't a good look on his scary face.

 

Maybe Oliver was drunker than he thought though, because he took Flint's hand without realizing it, and he said: “I don't want to go home, Marcus.”

 

The other man was startled by Oliver's action – hell, he was kind of surprised himself, why was he unable to do shit when he was drunk? - but then Flint smiled, and squeezed his hand.

 

“Go home, Oliver. You need to rest for tomorrow's training, and I'll have you know I will not go easy on my Keeper only because he drank with me tonight.”

 

That said, Flint helped Oliver get on his feet, charmed the notes to fold and get into his pockets, waved at Mace and helped Oliver get out of the Hag. Hell, he accompanied Oliver to his fucking flat because he was fucking wasted. What a fucking night.

 

Once he was in his bed, alone, Oliver let himself cry a bit, but he fell asleep soon after the first tear fell.

 

*

 

Lancashire had been a close call, and so had the Kenmare Kestrels. The morale was low, and they had to face the Tornados next, and the Tornados had won the championship two years before. Oliver tried to focus on the bright side, meaning that they were in the upper middle of the ranking, and that a defeat wasn't the worst thing that could happen to the team. He was the only one who thought that.

 

The preparations before the match went like they had always gone. Now the team had fallen into a comfortable pre-game routine, half because it was fun and half because it was calming to have familiar patterns to follow before a match. The night before the game they all went to the Hard-hearted Hag, where a little crowd of supporters had bought them some booze. The next morning, Oliver had given to the team a speech that had them chanting the usual “Eat Tornados for breakfast!”. This time, though, it sounded less catchy than before.

 

For years to come, Oliver would wonder how the team didn't lose by a higher margin. The final scores were 420 to 390, which was impressive and kind of astonishing, since the whole team felt like the Tornados had beaten them to a pulp. Well, in Theni's case it wasn't that far from true, since one of the Chasers had broken her nose – but the guy had two broken ribs thanks to Then's amazing punch that had Olena shout with joy and, Oliver knew, Marcus shine with pride. Yes, because now, even in his head, Flint had become Marcus.

 

It had become more and more difficult to call him Flint in his head, to pretend that his feelings were just the result of his childhood crush awakening again. Oliver was tired of lying to himself, of pretending he hadn't fallen in love all over again.

 

They ended up at the Hag anyway, this time to drown their sorrow together with the supporters who had been there the day before, and maybe a couple of people more. The pub was a noisy place that night, but definitely not lively.

 

Oliver was drinking his second – or third, who was counting anyway – glass of Firewhisky in a corner away from the crowd when Marcus went to sit together with him, asking for permission. Oliver nodded, even if all he wanted was to stay away from the man. He was already miserable, he didn't need Marcus Fucking Flint to remind him that he was straight and _way_ out of his league.

 

“Why don't you call me by first name, like you do with everyone?” it was a weird conversation starter, but remember that Oliver had been drinking and he was not good with booze.

 

Flint raised an eyebrow, but then he looked like he was thinking about the reason why he did what Oliver had pointed out. “I guess I'm just more used in calling you Wood, like we did in school. It's weird to call you Oliver.”

 

Oliver wanted to point out how his first name sometimes ended up being said anyway, but he just nodded in agreement. “Yes, I get it. But I think it's weird. That we don't call each other Marcus and Oliver, that is.” he sipped his whisky again, wanting to drown in the liquid and not be so close to his crush any more.

 

“Well, if it bothers you this much, you can call me Marcus whenever you want. And I'll try to use Oliver more often than not.” Marcus smirked, drinking his beer. Oliver smiled in return.

 

“Marcus.”

 

Marcus laughed, and Oliver knew he looked offended, and that made the other man laugh harder.

 

“I'm sorry, but your accent is so thick... when you say the r in Marcus... I don't know, it sounds very different from what everyone has ever called me. Sorry.” Marcus apologised, but Oliver felt something akin to fondness and possessiveness bloom inside his chest. Nobody called Marcus like he did. Which was kind of stupid, and probably untrue since the whole team and all the supporters were Scottish too, and most of them had an accent as thick as Oliver's, or even worse.

 

But Oliver didn't care.

 

*

 

The Appleby Arrows had a new, very good Seeker and a smart set of Chasers, but Oliver was confident about the match. Olena had been on fire during recent practice, and now Theni, Jake and Jacinto worked well together. They had learned to trust each other, to trust Oliver and to follow Marcus' advise. On top of that, Fabia and Ace were in their best shape since the start of the season.

 

Oliver's enthusiasm and positivity reflected in his pre-game speech. They couldn't lose, and they wouldn't. His words never felt so confident, and the team noticed. When they shouted “Eat Arrows for breakfast!” it was because they really meant it.

 

And what a game it was.

 

Oliver didn't even need to guard the goals most of the time, because one of his teammates always had the Quaffle. The Arrows scored three goals in total, with seventeen tries in three hours of game. The Bangers scored twenty-two goals out of twenty-five tries, and when Olena dived long before the Arrow's Seeker even noticed the golden gleam, Oliver knew they got the Snitch.

 

They really needed to lose to win again, and when they got off of their brooms Oliver was crying again, like after their first match.

 

“Our captain is a fucking waterfall.” Olena commented, and everyone laughed, Marcus too. When did Marcus arrive? Oliver didn't care, because they were all hugging each other again, and he knew that soon it would be his turn to be crushed by the coach's hug.

 

*

 

The Hard-hearted Hag had never been so noisy before. It looked like the entire city of Banchory was inside. Which wasn't much, considering how small Banchory was. But it was enough to feel like the wildest party Oliver had been to recently.

 

Ace and Jake had brought all their families, and their children were jumping around with joy, while the wives were complaining about their stinky husbands with each other. The Donne family was there as well, and it looked like the other five sisters were as small and terrible as the two Oliver knew. And the crowd of the supporters was incredible. It really felt like everybody was there.

 

That didn't mean that Oliver didn't feel lonely. While the adrenaline was disappearing, some kind of sadness was settling in his chest. Looking around, he noticed he wasn't the only one sitting in a corner. Olena was alone as well, which was kind of strange considering she was one of the heroes of the day.

 

Oliver was as well, and he was proud. His team had gone far, they had won. It was great. But he couldn't help but feel left out in front of the chaotic crowd. Alone with his thoughts and his beers.

 

He was surprised to see Marcus approach him, a smile on his lips that made Oliver's stomach do weird things. “Can I?” he gestured to an empty seat right next to Oliver, and the man nodded, mouth too dry to speak.

 

“You did a great job today.” Marcus said, and Oliver jumped with surprise. The man was far too close to him for his likes. Well, he actually was too far away for his likes, but...

 

“Thanks.” Oliver grinned, sure his face was as red as a tomato. He drank, knowing how stupid it was, since he tended to embarrass himself around Marcus when he drank.

 

Oliver smiled once he had finished his beer. “You did a good job too.”

 

“I didn't play.” Marcus pointed out, but Oliver shook his head.

 

“No, no, you didn't play. But you did... stuff. You put us all together, you made us a team. You trained us and made us better players. I am better than I ever was, even when I played for Puddlemere. And all I have to thank for that is you.” Oliver winked, and he didn't know why between Marcus and him there seemed to be all that winking lately. He liked it. It was like an inside joke.

 

Marcus probably thought the same, because he chuckled at that. “A man does what he can to win a bet.” Marcus mused, and Oliver wanted to replay something, but Mace's voice rumbled through the pub, thanks to magic.

 

“Thanks to you idiots and your little party, I have finished my bloody beers. Now get your stinky arses out of my pub, it's three in the morning for fuck's sake!”

 

Everyone laughed at that, but they quickly got out. As stated before, Mace was scary, as scary as Jake, if not even more. No one wanted to be against either of them.

 

Oliver gladly noticed that Olena left the pub with Fabia, so hopefully she wouldn't be alone for a while. When he turned to walk back to his place, Marcus was nervously smiling at him.

 

“Well, at this point you usually leave with some bloke you pick up from the pub but... if you want, you could come to my place. Just for another drink.” as he talked, Marcus became more and more relaxed, while Oliver grew more and more nervous.

 

Marcus Fucking Flint had just invited him to his house. To drink. Alone. His brain was shouting ABORT MISSION louder than ever before, but Oliver was good at not listening to him. It was like during Quidditch: his brain told him where the Chaser would throw the ball, but Oliver always trusted his guts, and that way he was always right about which hoop the Chaser would try to score through.

 

“Yes, I didn't drink much tonight and I could use a little more merriment.” he lied, and oh it was so easy to lie when Marcus Flint smiled at him like that.

 

He didn't even notice walking to Marcus' cottage till they were there, too lost in their conversation about what had been great during the match and about what they could improve. They ended up discussing and laughing, like they ended up doing so often now that Oliver sometimes forgot about their clashes during their school days.

 

Before he even realized it, he was sitting on a comfortable green couch with grey pillows, while Marcus was bent down near the liquor cabinet. Oliver appreciated the view, but he realized his mouth was open only when Marcus gave him a glass of scotch and a weird look.

 

Oliver joked about the colours of the couch and then they kept talking about the game for another bit, but Oliver's mind was somewhere else. Now that he was in Marcus' house, he was starting to realize how hard it was to be near Marcus. How painful. It was Hogwarts all over again. He wasn't sure he could do it this time.

 

“Can I tell you a story?” he asked, his voice small, after a comfortable moment of silence while Marcus was drinking.

 

“Yes, sure. Go on.” the other man said with a smile that set Oliver's gut on fire. But he had decided what to do now, and he was doing it no matter what.

 

“Aye. So. Let's find out if I can still do it. Please interrupt me if I start babbling or I talk about unrelated things.”

 

Marcus laughed. “This premises are already unrelated to the story, and you are kind of babbling.”

 

Oliver felt his cheeks heat up, and for a second he hated Marcus with all his heart. But it was a feeling that couldn't last long, not in Oliver's heart and definitely not directed to Marcus Flint.

 

“Okay so. There was this boy, once upon a time.” he started to narrate, voice strangely solemn.

 

“Did the boy like Quidditch?”

 

“Shut the fuck up Marcus! I'm trying to tell a bloody story here!”

 

Marcus snickered, but then his face returned serious. Oliver started again, less sure than ever.

 

“So yeah, a boy. And, for a matter of fact, there was another boy. And if you ask me if this boy liked Quidditch I swear to God Marcus, I'm going to set your pretty cottage on fire. Anyway, the two boys hated each other in school, but it wasn't entirely true, not for the first boy, anyway.”

 

He couldn't help it, he couldn't look at Marcus at this point. Oliver stared at the liquid in his glass, wondering why he hadn't drank it and if by drinking it he would have felt a little braver than he felt in that moment.

 

“So yeah. The first boy actually had the biggest crush ever on the other boy, but nobody noticed. They were all too worried the two boys would kill each other to notice than one actually cared for the other.”

 

Oliver sighed. He felt like he was fifteen again. The pain, the tears, all the things he had to conceal. Nobody had to know he had a crush on Marcus Flint. No one. Not even his team.

 

“You see, the problem was that when the first boy had finally mastered enough courage to talk to the other boy... the other boy got a girlfriend. And she was everything the first boy wasn't. She was small and cute and when she laughed she could make everyone laugh with her. Nobody understood what she saw in the second boy, but the first boy knew. And he was in pain for it.”

 

He remembered the morning the rumour got out. Valentina Greengrass and Marcus Flint were a weird couple, but in Oliver's mind they were made for each other. Both purebloods, both rich beyond comprehension, both the embodiment of what being a Slytherin was. While he was ruthless, she was fair. Where he was cunning, she was ambitious. They were both bossy, stubborn and good leaders, not to mention both good looking.

 

The moment he heard the rumour, Oliver had known he was doomed. Doomed all his life to dream a man who would never love him, because he was no blond, beautiful, smart heiress, but he was a stupid, auburn-haired idiot with too many dreams and no future.

 

“You know, the first boy couldn't cry in front of everybody, no matter how much he wanted to.” Oliver went on, once he had realized than his silence was about to be broken by Marcus.

 

“Hell, he couldn't even cry in front of his friends. He was supposed to hate him, not her. Or well, to hate her because of him, and he did. So he joined them in making fun of the new couple, and even if he didn't mean a single work he said against the other boy, he meant all he said about the girl. Not that he was mean to the girl in any way. She was perfect, and he knew she could make the second boy happy.”

 

Oliver felt a tear fall on his cheek, but he caught it quickly, like he did quit the Quaffle. He knew many more were coming, but thankfully his voice didn't break.

 

“So yeah, the first boy kept pretending to hate the second boy, even after the second boy broke up with the perfect girl. He convinced himself that it was better to hate the other boy then to... love him. Not that he loved him. Just... he knew he could, if only the second boy had given him the chance.”

 

Oliver sighed, and he refused to look at Marcus face. Let's move to the second part.

 

“Let's move to the second part, with a flash-forward. Ten years pass from the day the second boy got the most perfect human on Earth to be his girlfriend, and the first boy has not forgotten for a single day about his unrequited love. He has slept around, he even had some almost serious relationships, but he can't. He really can't. Sometimes, even after ten years, he finds himself thinking about the other boy, about the guy who broke his heart in a thousand million pieces and didn't even realize it. And then one day... surprise! The second boy just appears in his life again. And it's hard, not to punch the other guy and run away, but he can't. Because after all these years, the second guy needs the first one. He really does. And the first guy would never turn his back to someone in need... not even if he knows he's going to get hurt, the bloody idiot.”

 

Oliver closed his eyes, another tear falling. That time, he didn't stop it. He didn't care any more. His voice was breaking, and he didn't care any more.

 

“And it's hard for him, you know? To see the other guy, the guy he always felt something for, so close. Just... so close. It's hard because he knows that the second guy could never love a man, but he knows for sure now that he could never love another man. Or anybody else. Because the more he gets to know the second guy, the more the first guy is not fucking able to calm his bloody heart down. I know that the first guy is an idiot, but he can't help it. He just falls for the other guy again, harder than the first time. He really falls in love, and he doesn't bloody know what to do.”

 

Oliver opened his eyes, but he then he closed them again. He didn't wanted to see. He didn't even know why he was saying all that stuff, instead of celebrating. While he was crying on Marcus' couch, instead of getting drunk with him and singing weird songs.

 

“What do I do Marcus?” he whispered, and he was trembling so much that he spilled some of the scotch that still was in the glass.

 

Oliver didn't open his eyes until it was inevitable, until Marcus didn't pick the bloody glass form his hands to put somewhere else and then he took Oliver's trembling hands in his.

 

Oliver stopped. His mind, that was going a hundred miles a minute, just stopped, blank. He stopped trembling, stopped breathing. He thought even his heart stopped, but the bastard kept beating, harder and faster than before.

 

When he opened his eyes, all he could see was the cloudy grey in Marcus' ones. They were clear, and Oliver's brain slowly realized that the other man had shed a tear or two too.

 

“I'm sorry.” Marcus said. “Just... so sorry.”

 

Oliver didn't know what to say. Marcus was kneeling in front of him, holding his hands, and he didn't know what to do except cry and wait.

 

Marcus was the first one to talk. “I haven't told you what happens at the end of the bet, have I?”

 

Oliver shook his head. He didn't know what Marcus was going to say, but he was glad he could think about something that wasn't his misery for a couple of minutes. He gladly accepted the distraction Marcus was offering him.

 

“Well, if we win – and we will win, for fuck's sake, our team is great – Terence has to hurry the fuck up and finally ask Adrian to marry him, like he's been thinking of doing for too long.”

 

Oliver slowly registered the information that apparently Higgs and Pucey were a couple, and had been for enough time to think about marriage.

 

“What do you need to do if we... if we lose?” he asked, shy.

 

Marcus chuckled. “Well, if we lose – and we won't – I have to ask someone of Higgs' choice out.” Discomfort blossomed in Oliver's chest, but Marcus' sigh brought him back to their conversation. “He's always said that he thought you had a thing for me, so yeah. If we had lost, I would have had to ask you out on a proper date.”

 

Oliver thought about Marcus' words for a second, taking all them in.

 

“Why are you talking in past tense?” he asked in the end, even if he had a thousand questions buzzing in his head.

 

“Because I'm about to ask you out now, you fucking idiot.” Marcus snorted, and Oliver felt only disbelief.

 

“I'm sorry, I don't understand.” Oliver said, freeing his hands from Marcus'. He didn't fail to notice that the other man tried to hold his hands again, then deciding not to do it and to give Oliver a little space.

 

“I hated you in school, Oliver. I hated your guts. Even just looking at you made me upset. But growing up, I learnt how to appreciate you. That's why I wanted you as a captain for my team. You are a bloody good Keeper, and I thought you were a nice person. I was an idiot in school, so maybe I judged you too harshly.”

 

Marcus bit his lower lip for a second, and the movement caught all of Oliver's attention. But then, once Marcus went back to speak, he moved his glance to the man's grey eyes.

 

“I was right about some stuff at school, like the fact that you are a bloody good-y two shoes, you are stubborn as a mule and you never shut the fuck up. But you are also kind, bloody smart when it comes to Quidditch, and it's easy for people to feel close to you. You said before that I made this team, that I got you guys together, but that's not true. I just picked some random people hoping I wasn't making a disaster. You took these people and made them a team.”

 

One of Marcus' hands was again holding his, and Oliver looked at them, and then at Marcus. He looked like he was asking for permission, so Oliver smiled faintly, telling him he could keep holding his hand. Marcus grinned.

 

“I guess that during these months we grew closer... I ended up falling for you too, Oliver. You are a hot-head, but you are also a fucking brilliant human being, and I can't stop thinking about you. The more I try, the more the thought of you fills my stupid brain.”

 

Oliver was gaping, he knew he was. But fuck, he couldn't help it. Marcus' hand was grounding him, but he felt like floating anyway.

 

“But I'm a guy.” he said, dry. He felt tears at the corners of his eyes.

 

“Yeah, I get it and I dig it. I like my men as I like my women.”

 

Oliver stared at Marcus with a thousand questions in his look, and Marcus snorted. “I'm bi, you idiot. I though I made it clear by flirting with Jake the whole time, but apparently you are more dense than I thought.”

 

Oliver tried to understand, failing again. “Jake is married. He has two kids.”

 

“Yes, Jake is married. That doesn't mean he isn't bi too. Our flirting banter is some sort of bi solidarity form that was born between us. You really didn't notice?” Marcus sounded surprised.

 

Oliver shook his head. He tried to place all of Marcus' comments about Jake's muscles and booty together, and to think about the poetic ways Jake had used to describe Marcus' eyes. It kinda made sense. Not much, but some of it did.

 

He felt so stupid now.

 

“Is it fine then?” Marcus asked, and Oliver furrowed his brows.

 

“What?”

 

“If I ask you out. Is it fine or not?” Marcus asked again, patient, and Oliver felt his mouth dry again. Was it right?

 

“Yes.” he whispered, and then he repeated it louder. “Yes, yes it's fine. It's bloody brilliant. Yes. Please, yes.”

 

Marcus chuckled, and his smile grew every time Oliver added a yes to his list. Marcus' other hand moved to cup Oliver's cheek, and the Scottish man let himself lean into the touch.

 

“Can I kiss you? I swear, just one kiss” Marcus pleaded, and who was Oliver to turn him down without a fuss?

 

“Before the fist date? What will the team think? That I'm some cheap, romantic gay guy?”

 

“Now that you mention it, I think I will think it, but the team loves you too much to think all that crap.” Marcus joked, and Oliver was happy to feel his smile on his lips.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it this far! I hope you liked it :)
> 
> Kudos and comments are more than welcome.
> 
> If you want to hit me up on tumblr, it's writerrain


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